


Golden

by WitchyGirl99 (Witchy99)



Category: InuYasha - A Feudal Fairy Tale
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Demi-God Inuyasha, F/M, Where is Miroku? I don't know.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:20:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28364553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Witchy99/pseuds/WitchyGirl99
Summary: Inuyasha doesn’t understand much of what’s happening, but he knows this: she is a Goddess, she is beautiful and she is deadly.Her hand brushes his arm and her smile recedes. “You don’t know, do you?”“Know what?” The question feels like it’s been punched out of him, leaving him breathless and wanting. He doesn’t even know her name.“You’re expected to die,” the woman says simply, sadly. Her hand burns through his suit jacket. “War is coming for you.”War is waged upon the mortals and only one Demi-God can save them all.
Relationships: Higurashi Kagome/InuYasha
Comments: 10
Kudos: 31





	Golden

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is complete, but will be posted in three parts for editing.
> 
> Inspired by a tumblr post I cannot find to save the life of me, which features several badass Goddesses including Veritas. Veritas comes from a well, so. You see how _that_ started. 
> 
> In the end notes, I'll list details of the Gods and Goddesses with their character. Note that they are taken from a variety of mythologies, though probably more heavy on the Greek/Roman side.

There’s a saying that the mortals have: _bad news travels fast._

If only they knew.

### First Sight

They stand in the downtown square, horns blaring and mortals talking, moving and moving without ever stopping and stopping. Time’s such an issue for them, as young and feeble as they are. Always needing to be in one place and then the other, never enough hours in the day. Never enough days in the year.

Never enough years.

“There.”

Justice turns her head, knows without question the exact spot she needs to focus on. The moment she goes searching for him, his aura dances around his body like shimmering lights. It’s a golden hue, god-like regardless of his origins. Of his heritage. He’s walking south, headed out of the square and towards the rich skyscrapers where she’s heard tales that mortals wrap and layer heavy fabric called suits and dresses around themselves.

“He doesn’t know.”

Shrugging, Justice shifts towards Freedom and sees the way her violet aura twists and floats, close enough to wrap around her. She imagines the way her smile would look, with lips that are far too pink. For a brief moment, the Goddess _wants_. Her fingers twitch at her sides. “He hasn’t had reason to use his Sight.”

“He’s a fool then,” Freedom whispers. “With that target on his back–”

“A target he doesn’t truly understand,” Justice reminds her. “He doesn’t know yet.”

“He chose to live among the mortals.”

“To be with his mother, until she passed.”

“And yet, he’s still here.” Freedom sounds frustrated and Justice understands, even if only barely. “In Evermore, he could–” She cuts herself off abruptly and for a moment, her aura freezes.

This time, Justice doesn’t stop herself. She reaches out and wraps her fingers around the other Goddess’s hand. She understands without words what Freedom’s trying to say. _In Evermore, he could be free_. “Shiori,” she presses, using the Goddess’ current preferred name. It gets her attention, the glimmering swirl of her aura intertwining with her own. “We will protect him.”

Freedom’s grip tightens, ever so slightly. It’s just enough.

### Wretched

Exactly five cycles of both Sun and Moon had passed since the moment the news spread.

It started here, in the darkness, in the middle of nothing and everything all at once.

The Fates had paused, fingers spindly and bleeding, a hashmark of lines along every inch of their skin. While they were three, they were in fact one, and as one they took a deep breath in.

“I smell it,” Fate whispered.

“Death,” Fate responded.

“Blood,” Fate continued.

The sisters exhaled, the air stirring the great mountains of the north, an avalanche cascading down, down and down still.

“Has it finally come?” Fate asked, hushed. Reverent.

But she didn’t need to answer something she already knew.

The Fates smiled. Their bleeding hands begun to dance once more, unaware of the tiny flame that vanished from the shadows.

### Legacy

The King of Evermore dies when Sun is just about to run off to the Other Side. Moon is waiting, nearly frothing at the mouth to stretch out her legs.

The Queen stands at his bedside, as passive and calm as she always is. Her hand finds his and the touch is enough to calm him, to keep him from erupting volcanoes and spewing lightning upon the mortal ground. “You did this to yourself,” she reminds him. “You made this choice.”

It’s all about choices. Everything.

Rattling out a breath, the King nods his head once. He doesn’t have any regrets. If given the chance to do it again, he would keep the same path, regardless of the thorns. “They deserve life.”

“Do you remember, when we joined, that you claimed I deserved all of you?” She doesn’t ask the question unkindly, but it’s not without steel and ice either. She is as cold as the weather she commands.

“We have a purpose.”

“To _live_ ,” the Queen snaps. “We are Gods and we _live_. We do not give up ourselves to be put on a pedestal.”

With a smile, the King closes his eyes. “You like your pedestal. Almost too much.”

“But I never needed one before, not like you.” The Queen shakes her head but still, she does not let go of his hand.

“We have a purpose,” the King repeats. “This was mine.”

And while she does not love him, not in the way that mortals write and sing and pray about, the Queen feels sudden, swift and unrelenting sadness.

She lets go of his hand and on the mortal world, everything begins to freeze.

### The Golden Son

Inuyasha Taisho feels it like his chest is collapsing. He feels it so deep down inside that there is no part of him that can escape, can push past it, can ever forget. His body is caving in on itself as a part of him dies.

He’s at work but his office is the only one that still holds any light. The others have long gone home but he– He cannot. Inuyasha stares down at his designs, at the idle scratches he’s been marking slowly over the last hour. His project is at a complete standstill and he refuses to leave until there’s a tiny hint of forward progression.

But then it happens. The pain.

And then he registers exactly what he’s been drawing the entire time.

“Damn it,” Inuyasha hisses, first pinching the bridge of his nose before he can’t help it, can’t stop it. He stands up, the force of it throwing back his chair and slamming it into the wall. He grips the table he works at and seethes, body begging his mind to let him throw the whole thing out the twentieth story window. He wants to. He _needs_ to.

His dark brown eyes look down at the tabletop, at the drawings that practically sit there and mock him. All of his time here and he’s been drawing a sword, a symbol etched into the hilt that he is both extremely familiar and unfamiliar with.

It’s an ancient symbol, taken from temples and treasuries and sanctuaries around the world. It’s relatively simple in nature: an even cross, with stark steel-like wings for arms and a circular sign in the middle representing Evermore, the land of the Gods. The creators of the mortal world.

No matter how hard he tries to hide, no matter how far he runs… He can’t really get away, can he?

Turning with a heavy exhale, Inuyasha sits down at his desk and stares out the window. The sun is setting, barely a blip in the horizon. He blinks and for a moment, there is nothing but darkness. In the distance, he swears he hears the howl of a wolf.

So it’s done then.

His father, the King, is dead.

### Clear Eyes, Full Hearts, Can’t Lose

Restricting oneself to watching and watching alone is horrible. Shiori, the Goddess of Freedom, feels her bones aching and wonders how mortals could dwell in establishments like these for hours. “He’s just sitting there, Rin, _reading_ ,” she says, and it’s not a whine, _it’s not_.

“He does this every Saturday morning,” Justice states, mouth pursing over the name Shiori gave her the moment they touched down upon the mortal world.

She ignores the look. “It’s boring.”

“You’re a Goddess, born to live forever. This time is nothing.”

Shiori gives Rin the side-eye, knowing full-well the other Goddess cannot see it. Sometimes though, she wonders. Maybe Justice simply knows her that well.

Case in point: “Stop it.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Shiori replies, looking away. Her violet eyes spare a glance at the door, now opening with a couple coming inside, followed shortly by– “Shit.”

Rin stiffens in her chair and focuses in on what Shiori’s looking at, the woman with long brown hair and magenta-coloured eyes. She walks with a swagger that can’t be easily defined, her chin proudly lifted and shoulders free of any weight. The woman looks like she’s just won a battle, gone in screaming and come out the other side without a scratch on her.

But this woman is no mortal.

“Victory,” Justice breathes. She closes her eyes.

As if summoned, the Goddess heads towards them. The smile on her face never changes and despite how much older she is, Victory looks as fresh-faced as a young, mortal woman, barely past her teens. “So you did come,” she states, taking a seat on one of the wooden chairs. “I wasn’t sure if the rumours were true.”

Shiori wants to retort that of course she knew. She bites it down and resists the urge to run. It’s not that Victory is some terrible, wretched Goddess. To the mortals, Freedom supposes, she can be rather elusive. But rarely is she ever something to be hated, unless the victor’s win is bittersweet.

The silence has gone on for too long. Rin clears her throat and taps an unfamiliar rhythm on the small table. “Why are you here, Victory?”

Victory studies her for a moment and tilts her head to the side. “Call me Sango, please, lest the mortals with a Third Eye think we’re insane. And you truly didn’t think I would come? A war is brewing.”

“There are wars everywhere,” Rin replies, voice soft. It’s an explanation, though a weak one at best. “He’s made it clear that this will be his greatest one.”

“Look.” Victory – Sango – sits up in her chair, poised like at any moment she could attack. Never run. Victory doesn’t run. “You were barely born when the King sacrificed his immortality to give the mortals life, so you likely don’t remember what life once was.”

Shiori squirms in her seat and tries not to look at Rin, whose mouth is in a thin line again. Of them all, she’s the youngest. To make it worse, she was not born a Goddess at all but a sprite, a creature of the forest. It wasn’t until–

Well.

Story aside, Rin is young, barely older than when the first mortal walked the plane.

“The Gods and Goddesses lived, though it was a rather tedious existence,” Sango says, magenta eyes shifting to stare out the nearby window. A mortal couple outside screamed, happiness bursting from them like tidal waves. “Despite our numbers, we’re not really made to be with each other,” she continues. “We’re all so different, so _specialized_. It’s not something I understand and neither the King nor Queen has ever spoken word on it. On _why_. But we lived for nothing but each other’s destruction. What more was there to do? Jealousy and Vengeance would pair, and half of us would be trying to kill the other. It was brutal. It was nothing more than day-to-day survival without the benefit of true death.

“But then the King created the mortals, and suddenly there was…” Victory trails off, seemingly lost for words.

“Purpose,” Rin finishes.

Sango nods her head. “Purpose.”

“And now that War has stated we should separate ourselves from the mortals – _abandon them_ – the fighting will begin again.” Shiori finds herself saying the words even though she doesn’t want to, even though it hurts to hear. She tucks a strand of long silver hair behind her ear and looks over in the direction of the man they’ve been following for the last few cycles. “War is the most powerful God of us all.”

“The King could’ve stopped him,” Justice says, face falling even as she says it. Shiori understands. The loss is like a hole inside, dark and forbidding.

“The Queen could still but she will not,” Sango admits, expression twisting horribly. “War has always been her favourite and she’s never loved the mortals.”

Rin sighs and stops the drumming of her fingers. “The Demi-God… His aura is golden.”

The words shock Shiori and from the astonishment on Sango’s face, the feeling is mutual. The Goddess reaches out to touch Justice’s hand, needing physical contact like a lifeline. “Golden?”

“Golden,” she confirms.

Victory laughs and when she does so, her head tilts back and her body dances with it. “So there’s a chance,” she says, almost giddy. “The King did not leave us without a saviour.”

“He’s no God,” Shiori reminds her.

“No,” she concedes, “but with us on his side – especially myself – how can he lose?”

Shiori thinks about the King, about how his hubris and demands for a purpose caused all of this to begin with. What Sango said was true: she barely remembers a time before the mortals walked the plane. But the King made a decision and now they all were going to suffer for it. Victory is not so unlike him and that scares her.

Underneath the table, Rin reaches out.

Shiori takes a shallow breath and forces a smile.

### Ruin

War stands at the ruins of his temple, his once sanctuary, and he _hates_.

Mortals. Once so loyal they would make sacrifices in his honour, would burn the world if he ordered it, now nothing more than peasants on his land. They forget and they turn their backs on their history, doomed to repeat themselves over and over until the end of days. It keeps War busy, but it burns at him from the inside.

He looks down at the foundation of his temple, still strong and sturdy despite what Nature and the Elements have done to it. His pillars, once plentiful and strong, are now mostly collapsed. Only six remain. The rest have been lost to time or to galleries the mortals have to preserve their myths. _Myths_.

War seethes.

“I will rid them of this plane,” War announces to the sky, to Evermore, to all the Gods and Goddesses he can feel are listening. “The King is dead and I shall rule in his stead.”

“Careful, my son.”

Irritated, War spins to see the Queen, his mother. She stands before him as regal as ever, face a porcelain mask with ice-blue eyes. “Mother.”

“Don’t play coy,” the Queen says, voice even, almost soothing.

War inclines his head and concedes. “He’s dead.”

“He is.” The Queen doesn’t flinch at the words, spoken or said to her.

“The mortals killed him and I will do what Father failed to do long ago.” War clenches his hand and then relaxes. “I will eliminate them.”

The Queen starts to walk towards him, coming so close that if he reached out, he could touch her. He doesn’t, for while he is born from her, there is nothing motherly about her. Just like there is no such thing as unconditional love to a being as chaotic and hurtful as he. “This will lead to your demise.”

The words are like a blow but he accepts it, buries the ammunition within his soul and wraps his fiery armour around himself. “You think I will fail.”

She doesn’t say anything in response. Instead, she clasps her hands together and looks out from the acropolis, to the city surrounding it below. “If you are to destroy the mortals, you must also destroy _him_.”

War nods. This much he knows. “He’s an abomination.”

“Be that as it may,” the Queen says, “but like you, the half-breed was made with the King’s love. That gives him strength.”

He reaches behind him and draws out his sword. “I will kill him first, slowly. I will string his body across the plane until the mortals shake with fear.”

The Queen stares at him with those impenetrable eyes, assessing. Determining. “Yes,” she whispers, and it almost sounds like a prayer. “You will.”

### Veritas

“You have to be wrong.” Victory grips at her weapon harder, enjoys the weight of the blade in her palm. She looks at Justice and Freedom, at the tense line of their bodies, and wonders how they even came to be here. “She’s been sleeping for millennia. Sacrifices have been made. Wars have been waged, lost and won. Our temples have been built and destroyed. Still, she slumbered.”

“I can see it,” Rin, the Goddess of Justice, whispers reverently. “It’s… It’s beautiful.”

Sango doesn’t understand because Justice is blind. Rin can’t _see_ anything. Mortals are nothing more than shadows and Gods and Goddesses nothing more than shimmering lights. How can she see someone that she’s only heard of in fairy tales? In legends that even the Old Gods don’t believe?

They stand in the middle of a forest, the trees large and imposing around them. Everything is dark, for Moon is running across the sky in delight but covered by the leaves and branches. Only tiny, glimmering slivers exist here, in this clearing.

Before them is the Well.

“No,” Sango says, but even she can tell that it lacks conviction. This is a battle she will not win. “I don’t believe it.”

“The days are ending,” Rin murmurs, “and even the mortals can feel it in their bones. If there was ever a time for her awakening, this is it.”

Sango disagrees but keeps her mouth shut, hand clenching tighter on her blade. Pretty soon, the wrapping of the hilt will indent into her skin.

A short, breathy gasp fills the silence and Justice actually falls to her knees, hands hitting the grass below and digging in. “She’s coming.”

With that sort of dramatic exclamation, Sango almost expects some grand entrance. A light exploding from the old, wooden well. Sparkles. A shimmering light. Instead, everything is quiet as two pale hands appear from the hole and grasp the side of it. A woman pulls herself up and the first thing Sango notices is the long spools of black wavy hair. She hauls herself into a sitting position and spares only the briefest glance in their direction before looking up at the sky.

“You’re real.” Shiori’s voice is shaking. “The King wasn’t lying.”

“The King cannot lie about what I am.” The Goddess smiles slowly, as if the trees above provided a message of welcome. Slowly she stands up and brushes at her white dress, barely fussing before taking a step towards them. “I am Truth. In three days all the mortals will die. In turn, so will we.”

Sango doesn’t know what to think. The Goddess seems too small. She is as youthful as she is, maybe a year or so younger in appearance. Her eyes are dark, like the abyss all mortals have nightmares about. Her lips are pale but so is her skin. It’s baffling enough that Victory can’t help herself but to say, mean and spiteful: “And you’ve awoken to what, save us all? Finally decided that you should roll up your sleeves and actually do something for once in your existence?”

Instead of getting angry, Truth’s smile simply grows. “You don’t mean that.”

And for the first time in a long, long time, Victory feels the first tendrils of fear slither down her spine.

### First Touch

Inuyasha Taisho leads a relatively normal life, all things considered. He wakes up in the morning and runs on his treadmill, listening to rock or rap or trashy Top 40s before showering and getting ready. He leaves the house at half-past seven and takes his time making his way through the bustling of street traffic, pedestrians everywhere on their phones or rushing to work. His favourite Starbucks sits on the corner two blocks away from his work and he doesn’t even have to wait anymore. The barista who works practically every morning recognizes him, makes sure to point out where his mobile order is already sitting, made.

He goes to the office, always one of the first people in no matter what day it is. He closes his door and focuses, best he can, on the multitude of projects he’s currently working on. A few of them have tight deadlines, things he should be worrying about.

Inuyasha’s not worried though. If anything, he’s a little numb.

He has been ever since his father died five days ago. It’s a feeling he doesn’t want to have but can’t seem to get rid of anyways.

He misses his mom.

It hits him like a punch to the gut but Inuyasha ignores it in favour of answering a few emails. His mother died years ago; the cancer too far spread. Palliative care was the only option and despite his begging – his pleading, his _sorrow_ – she refused to let him ask for the favour of the Gods. To ask the King of Evermore.

His father.

But now he, too, is dead and Inuyasha doesn’t feel any more alone than he did before the King died. Only, that’s not exactly true.

Inuyasha tries not to seethe as he aggressively clicks to read the next email. He’s thought about his family more in the last few days than he had all of the last year. It’s strange how quickly your mind can grasp onto something. If it wasn’t for the pain in his chest, Inuyasha thinks that he could forget like he’s always done. He just needs to get back into routine. No more doodling in the columns of his notebooks. No more staring at a blank document when he should be writing reports.

He’s alive and his parents are dead.

Life goes on.

He works and he works and he works. The day drives on and Inuyasha ignores the ache in his chest. Eventually, maybe, it’ll disappear all together. If not, he’ll need a distraction; one that simply cannot be pushed to the wayside. He repeats that thought in his mind like a mantra, holds it close, and wishes it power.

He opens a report and scours through it.

And then he gets up, turns around like it’s normal, and heads towards the window of his office. It’s almost five o’clock, but that generally means nothing to him. Inuyasha leaves when his work is done; he stops when there is nothing to do. And yet, he’s stopping, standing at the floor-to-ceiling window of his office and staring down at the street. It makes no sense.

He scours anyways, looking. For what? He doesn’t know. It’s a blur of bodies moving through the city like ants, cars driving by and bicycles weaving along the edges. There’s nothing there.

Turning back around, Inuyasha goes to sit down in his chair and continue working.

He pauses, bent and poised to actually do so. Something is screaming at him, in his mind. No, that’s not right. It’s deeper than the mind. Harder than the heart. Inuyasha frowns, sits and then gets up with an explosive huff of aggravation.

The window doesn’t hold any new answers, but Inuyasha didn’t expect it to. He doesn’t know what he expects. How would he even find it? But it’s his soul, it’s _in_ his soul. A sort of craving that has him pressing against the glass, looking anyways. He searches but cannot see, not with these mortal eyes.

The thought sends a shockwave through his body, like a live electrical wire has breeched his skin and made his nerves dance alight. Where did that even come from? He hasn’t—He has never considered the possibility of it, not since his mother’s death. What was the point of being anything other than mortal?

_You’re not_ , the thing within him whispers. Not his mind. Not his heart. His soul.

Inuyasha closes his eyes, hiding the dark brown orbs from the view of the city below. Pressing his forehead into the glass, he breathes. Considers. Why now? Why have these thoughts now? Is it because his father is dead? Inuyasha thought he was better than that, thought he was harder than that. He’s never known his father, not since he was very, very young.

But he’s always felt him. Inuyasha knows this only because, now that the King is dead, his chest feels an ache it hadn’t previously. A coldness.

When he opens his eyes again, the irises are gold.

And they see her. Immediately.

She’s stunning in white. It’s a sharp contrast to the darkness of her long hair, untamed in the blowing breeze. She looks like a ghost, a phantom trapped within the folds of reality as people crowd up against her on all sides. Whoever she is, she remains unmoved. The fact that this woman is staring straight at him, twenty floors away, sends a shiver down Inuyasha’s spine.

He moves. He barely thinks but if pressed there’s the remembrance of grabbing keys, a cell phone and an empty briefcase. Inuyasha flies through the hallways, bypasses the elevators for the stairs. He doesn’t think, but simply does. Hand on the handrail, vaulting his body over until he plummets down. There’s a scream but Inuyasha doesn’t stop. He’s in the lobby, at the entrance, outside of the doors—

“Hello.”

The woman is right in front of him and Inuyasha doesn’t understand much of what’s happening, but he knows this: she is a Goddess, she is beautiful and she is deadly.

Her hand brushes his arm and her smile recedes. “You don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?” The question feels like it’s been punched out of him, leaving him breathless and wanting. He doesn’t even know her name.

“You’re expected to die,” the woman says simply, sadly. Her hand burns through his suit jacket. “War is coming for you.”

**Author's Note:**

>  **Gods and Goddesses, in order of appearance:**  
>  \- Goddess of Justice (Rin)  
> \- Goddess of Freedom (Shiori)  
> \- King of Evermore (Inu no Taisho)  
> \- Queen of Evermore, Goddess of Winter (Sesshomaru's Mother)  
> \- Goddess of Victory (Sango)  
> \- God of War (Sesshomaru)  
> \- Goddess of Truth (Kagome)


End file.
